few weeks ago, turning on the radio, I hear a voice saying that creative writing can help wounds heal faster. Startled, I turn the volume up. Volunteers were given small wounds; half were then asked to write about something distressing in their life, the other half about something mundane. The wounds of the confessional writers healed substantially more quickly. A thought or a feeling is felt on the skin. Our minds, which have power over our bodies, are in our bodies and are our bodies: we cannot separate the two. Words, self-expression, can tangibly help pain and suffering. Art can be medicine, for body and soul.
Over and over again, I am reminded of the transformative power of art. Answering the phone, I hear a deep and husky voice: “Doe, a deer, a female deer.” My mother, 85, frail, registered blind, bashed about by cancer and several strokes, is having singing lessons. At school, she was made to mouth the words of songs and she never sang again until now. Eighty years after being told she was tone deaf, her voice is being released. “Me, a name I call myself…”
Or recently I found myself in a hall in London, holding hands with a tiny woman from Jamaica and a large man from Birmingham, we dance. Bit by bit, our self-consciousness falls away and we grin at each other, laugh. Dementia has robbed them of their verbal ability – but there are many different languages, many different forms of embodied knowledge and ways that we can connect with each other. read more